


when you were young

by monstermash



Series: the crown hangs heavy on either side [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, rewrite of an older fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: Like all beginnings, it started with a mirror and death.





	when you were young

**Author's Note:**

> hey so here's the rewrite of [this fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715325) i'm quite happy with how this turned out, although i'll probably come back in a few years to rewrite it again lmao (it's better than the original imo, but there's still room for improvement). i'm posting this now so that the draft doesn't get deleted (and also because it's starting to get pretty long. i should've broken this first chapter up into two but oh well)
> 
> just a couple of notes:  
> \- i can't remember if it was ever actually confirmed, but i like the headcanon that elves (and half elves) have tapetum lucidum. i feel like dwarves would have that too, since they live underground and all.
> 
> \- [here](https://allisondraste.tumblr.com/post/175117998069/i-am-so-happy-to-have-received-this-question) is a pretty good post about Alistair's character/personality and about the abuse and neglect he dealt with in his childhood.
> 
> \- i really hate the "elves have magic genetics and that's why there's no such thing as 'half elves'" so i'm just gonna ignore that. Alistair will still pass as human for the most part, but his ears have a bit of a point to them and he's got tapetum lucidum like other elves and half elves do. ([here](http://dalishious.tumblr.com/post/172216493117/never-trust-half-an-elf-the-treatment-of) is a pretty good post on bioware's bad treatment of multiracial characters. it's mostly elven/half elven focused but it's still a good read imo)
> 
> \- while not actual mages themselves, Atuan and Alistair still experience sensitivity to the Fade and magic in general (it's also why - as far as i can tell - Alistair can still use a lot of [templar abilities without lyrium)](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com/post/130203397669/ive-talked-before-about-the-relationship-between)
> 
> \- i changed up Atuan's appearance a bit; i figure ancient elves were pretty tall and all that jazz before everything that happened, so occasionally a modern elf might be born with a bigger stature like their ancestors. in this case, Atuan is roughly seven feet tall. for comparison, i picture the average qunari height range being between 7-8 feet tall, so Atuan is like, a few inches shorter than Sten (who i picture to be about 7'2).
> 
> \- **Alistair is not white.** he's a brown biracial man and i'm honestly really tired of seeing game mods making him white and dragon age fans claiming he's white when he isn't. ([x,](http://dalishious.tumblr.com/post/161257738707/hold-up-how-is-alistair-biracial-is-there-like-a)[x)](http://merilsell.tumblr.com/post/178459793391/so-about-alistair-and-being-tan) and no, the Taint does _not_ make Wardens white [(x)](http://dalishious.tumblr.com/post/154137480257/the-taint-does-not-make-you-white)
> 
> ***i'll have more of my notes/resources listed in the end notes, so feel free to read through them! (if any of the links don't work let me know and i'll try to fix it)

“This must be the cave. I don’t recall seeing this before, do you?”

There’s something off about this cave, about this part of the forest in particular; too much fog and the overcast sky even though it had been bright and sunny only moments ago, an unnatural darkness at the mouth of the cave, obscuring what lies within. But there’s something else that Atuan can’t quite put his finger on…

“No, and that worries me. We should be wary.”

Tamlen rolls his eyes, scoffing at his friend’s hesitance. “Always the careful one, Atuan. Fine, but I’m not running back until I know there’s something worth making a fuss over.”

“My being careful has saved our hides more times than you can count, Tamlen,” Atuan responds wryly, thinking of all the times Tamlen has gotten himself caught in briar patches, or that time he twisted his ankle after tripping on some rubble in the ruins the clan found about a year ago near Highever. A huff of laughter escapes Tamlen when he sees the look on Atuan’s face as he recalls that memory.

Reaching up as he passes by, Tamlen tugs on the braid of white hair that rests over Atuan’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s at least see what’s there. How dangerous could it be?”

Atuan lets out a half-weary sigh, but he follows his friend anyway, having to duck under the branches of the barren trees, silently cursing his ridiculous height.

“See when you say things like that I just know something is bound to go wrong.”

It isn’t until they’ve entered the strange cave that Atuan realizes what was so odd about the forest surrounding it.

It was absolute silence, no sound of birds singing or other wildlife moving about. There wasn’t even the sound of wind.

Just a stagnant silence; like a grave, a tomb.

\---

The ice cold chill of the stonework and broken tile flooring reminds Atuan of the harsh winter the last time the clan crossed the Frostbacks, back before he and Tamlen received their vallaslin. 

Most of the mosaics on the walls have long since faded or chipped and what remains is hidden behind thick webs, though he can see a few glimpses of what he assumes are stylized depictions of Falon’Din and owls. It must’ve been something to behold before falling into ruin.

Perhaps this had once been a temple? Though now it is a home to spiders and the dead possessed by lost spirits. Atuan can tell by the way the Veil feels thinner here compared to the rest of the Brecilian Forest, how the air crackles with magic the same way the air hums with electricity just before it storms.

“I can’t believe this!” The sound of Tamlen’s voice draws Atuan’s attention away from the mosaic and towards his friend who stands before an intricately carved statue, stylized much like the other pieces of artwork strewn throughout the ruin. “You recognize this statue, don’t you?”

He steps closer to it, and yes, there is something familiar about it. They’ve probably come across another statue similar to it in another ruin, or something another clan recovered and showed at the last Arlathvhen.

“It’s worn, but it looks vaguely familiar…” Atuan answers, trying to recall exactly _when_ he might’ve seen something similar but is coming up blank.

Clearly Tamlen remembers, seeing how excitedly he speaks of it. “Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honored the Creators. When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture… with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?”

Glancing back to the mosaics and obscured murals, Atuan thinks it’s a safe bet.

\---

They continue moving through the ruin, the sound of their feet on the stonework echoing off the walls. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any more spiders, though Atuan can still sense the spirit possessed dead lurking somewhere within these old walls.

He’s also thankful for the high ceilings and arches so he doesn’t have to duck and weave his way through this place.

There isn’t a lot for them to explore here, most of the branching halls closed off to them due to old cave-ins, but he gets this odd feeling that this ruin is trying to herd them somewhere…

It’s eerie, this place; their clan has been through this forest numerous times – even spends most of the year in these woods – yet they’ve never come across this place until today, until those shems told them of this place.

Atuan and Tamlen come to a stop in front of a large, foreboding door, an unnatural chill radiating from somewhere behind it. Whether or not Tamlen can sense it too, he opens the door and steps into grandiose chamber, a bizarre mirror that doesn’t show their reflection stands atop a raised dais.

Sometimes he really hates his best friend’s insatiable curiosity, but he follows nonetheless.

As soon as he crosses the threshold the atmosphere becomes oppressive, suffocating even, with that sinister mirror at the center of it all, like a brewing storm. There’s a cloying stench of decay that makes him gag and all too suddenly, too late, he realizes that they shouldn’t have come here as a cold sweat breaks out across his skin.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tamlen asks with awe.

 _No,_ Atuan wants to say. _Something as sinister as that couldn’t possibly be beautiful._

“I wonder what the writing says,” Tamlen thinks aloud, completely unaware of Atuan trying not to vomit. “I’m not as good at reading Elvish as you are, but I think I can make out some of it…”

Atuan has to hold onto one of the chamber’s pillars to hold himself upright, his legs shaking too much to hold him up properly.

“It’s odd that it isn’t broken like everything else we’ve seen… I wonder what this writing is for?” Tamlen draws closer and closer to the mirror and Atuan can feel his heartbeat and pulse thrum loudly in an opposing beat that thrums from the mirror. “Maybe this isn’t—hey, did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror.”

Atuan stares at it, but sees nothing, just the same reflection of the room without them in it. But the chill radiating from it changes. That doesn’t bode well for them.

“Get away from it, Tamlen…” he manages to choke out around the nauseating stench of rot. They shouldn’t have come here. He should’ve marched them back to camp and told Marethari about this place before even thinking of coming here.

But Tamlen doesn’t listen and continues forward towards the strange mirror, almost as if he’s entranced by it.

“Hold on, I just want to know what it is. Don’t you see it? There it is again! Can you feel that? I think it knows we’re here. I just need to take a closer look.” He steps right up to it, just inches away from the smooth glass surface. But then Atuan sees a tiny ripple in the lower corner, feels himself pale. “It’s… showing me places. I can see… some kind of city… underground?”

Pushing himself away from the pillar he’d been using as support, Atuan stumbles forward. If Tamlen won’t leave the cursed thing alone then Atuan will just have to drag him out of here.

As soon as Tamlen touches the mirror’s surface, it emits an odd light and it ripples even more, as if one had just dropped pebbles into a pond.

“And… there’s a great blackness.” The light grows darker, an incoherent murmuring, as if a crowd of a thousand people were all whispering at once, comes from the mirror. “It… it saw me! Help! I can’t look away!”

“Tamlen, you need to let go of it!” Atuan yells as he tries to tug Tamlen away from the mirror, but it’s no use, as if Tamlen’s hand is stuck to it.

The mirror’s surface bubbles like boiling water as it lets off a blinding light that sounds like thunder. Atuan throws his arms up to shield his eyes, but he can still see it through his tightly shut eyes.

Then everything goes dark.

\---

When sight comes back to him, however briefly, everything looks blurry and slow. There’s a concerned looking shemlen man. Who is he? Where is Tamlen?

“Can you hear me? I am… very sorry.”

 _Sorry for what?_ Atuan wants to ask, but his eyes have grown heavy and everything spins away into quiet darkness once more.

\---

When he wakes again, it is to the sight of an aravel’s cloth roof and an aching throb behind his eyes.

Perhaps it was just some sort of dream? He feels as if he’s come down with a fever. It’s a bittersweet hope until Fenarel greets him when he exits the aravel and finds out that he’s been asleep for two days and that he was saved by a Grey Warden.

Atuan is left reeling with this new information while Fenarel goes to get Marethari.

_Two days? Has it really been that long?_

As soon as he sees the look on the Keeper’s face, he knows it’s true.

\---

“It’s been two days, da’len. If he is as sick as you were I’m afraid that Falon’Din might have guided him through the Beyond already.”

“You don’t know for sure though! Tamlen could be out there and in need of help! I can’t give up on him, I won’t.”

Marethari sighs.

“No matter what you find out there, don’t stick it to your heart so hard. A heart is a heavy burden to bear already, don’t add onto that weight.”

\---

Ashalle looks close to tears when she lays eyes on him, but she’s smiling in relief.

“Oh, by the Creators, you had me so worried, Atuan,” she says around a shaky sigh, reaching up on tiptoes to turn his head this way and that, inspecting for any lingering damage. “All that time you were ill, Marethari didn’t know if you were going to live or die!”

“I’m alright now,” Atuan reassures her.

“You must be more careful. Your parents – may they rest in peace – would be horrified to see you take such risks.”

“You’ve never spoken of my parents much, Ashalle.”

She sighs. It’s a well-worn topic between them.

“What happened to them is a sad tale, and it’s in the past. Reopening old wounds benefits no one.”

“Don’t we Dalish strive to learn of our past?”

Something in Ashalle wavers, and for once, she finally tells him what happened to his parents.

\---

They find darkspawn and the Grey Warden – Duncan – but they do not find Tamlen.

Duncan smashes the mirror and the tension permeating the air snaps, leaving the ruin calm and quiet.

The darkspawn are gone and with them goes any hope of finding Tamlen.

\---

Atuan joins Duncan willingly.

He is dying from the Taint that courses through his veins and the clan has suffered losing Tamlen already; he does not wish to have them watch as he wastes away, it would be like rubbing salt in an open wound. 

They travel along the old Imperial Highway towards Ostagar, mostly on foot but sometimes by riding on the back of a wagon kind enough to let them on.

Atuan is silent for most of the trip and he’s glad Duncan is respecting his time of grieving. He knows there won’t be time for it when they get to Ostagar.

Every night he dreams of Tamlen, wandering lost and sick down in the dark ruins, begging for Atuan to find him, to help him. He’s grateful that Duncan refrains from commenting when he wakes up in a cold sweat and crying. He doesn’t think he could bear it if anyone called attention to his guilt ridden nightmares. It’s bad enough having those dead, unseeing, milky white eyes pleading for help burned into his mind.

When they’re a couple days away from the ancient fortress, Atuan cuts his hair with a dagger, shears it short. It doesn’t look great – it’s messy and wild – but at least now he won’t have to worry about being grabbed by the braid he now holds in his hand.

Won’t have to be reminded of what he’s left behind.

“It suits you,” Duncan tells him and it helps, hearing that, despite all the odd looks he gets when they pass through Lothering.

\---

He would be a bit embarrassed to admit it later on, but when Alistair first saw Atuan he’d thought he was an old man. Though to be fair his first glimpse of the elf had been from a distance, when he noticed the elf approaching while he had been making friends with a grumpy mage on behalf of the Revered Mother in camp.

It was mostly the elf’s white hair that had given him that impression, but the dark red face markings from afar had looked like very pronounced wrinkles. At least he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth and said something like, _“Wow I thought you were incredibly old, but now that I’ve got a better look at you you’re actually very pretty.”_

What was he doing again? Oh, right. Making friends with Grumpy.

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!”

Oh there he goes. He was really starting to warm up to Grumpy.

“You know,” Alistair says, turning his attention to the elf in front of him and having to crane his neck slightly to look him in the eye. Maker, what do the Dalish eat to get that tall? Do they all share that height? “One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

The elf chuckles with a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

\---

Atuan takes his time walking through and exploring as much of the camp as he can; Alistair doesn’t particularly mind as he watches the elf’s expressive face with amusement.

“I’ve never seen so many people in one place. Not even at an Arlathvhen,” Atuan whispers to him, confusion on his face. “How do you keep track of them all?”

“Keeping track of people is mostly the job of a quartermaster and certain officers,” Alistair helpfully informs him. It’s surprising, in a way, that Atuan seems eager to learn as much as he can in such a short amount of time.

“In my clan it is mostly the Hahrens and the Keeper who keep track.”

A flash of homesickness crosses Atuan’s face and Alistair understands that feeling all too well, but it’s been a very long time since he’s had anywhere other than being with the Grey Wardens that he considered as a home. All he can really offer is a sympathetic smile that Atuan returns before continuing on their way.

\---

“She’s a witch, I tell you! We shouldn’t be talking to her!” Daveth warns them as they stand outside of an oddly constructed hut.

“Quiet, Daveth! If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?” Jory whispers harshly and looking like he’s barely restraining himself from elbowing the man.

Honestly, Alistair doesn’t believe in whole _“Witch of the Wilds”_ thing, but he’s pretty sure that the women who stand before them are apostates, can tell by the way he can… sense – that’s the closest word he has to describe it – the magic clinging to them.

“There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will,” the older woman says, completely dismissing them at this point and fixes her all of her attention on Atuan and that makes Alistair even more wary of her and her sneaky witch thief daughter. “And what of you? Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint? What do you believe?”

“I’m not sure what to believe,” Atuan tells her and the woman grins like there’s a joke only she is in on. Alistair doesn’t care for it very much, to say the least.

“A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware… or is it oblivious? I can never remember.” The woman’s eyes narrow, as if she’s looking deep into Atuan’s soul, all else around forgotten or pushed to the wayside; if the situation were different, Alistair probably would’ve found it funny that an old woman that barely came up to his chest was sizing up someone like Atuan. “So much about you is uncertain… and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!”

Actually, it is kind of funny. With all of Daveth’s worrying he’d thought this would be much worse than it is.

“So this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair grins wryly at Atuan who is trying to keep an amused smile from curling his lips.

The sound of Alistair’s voice seems to snap the woman out of her thoughts.

“Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moons!” Her laughter seems to echo loudly in the trees around them, almost as if it was the surrounding woods laughing instead of her.

But she does hand over the documents, having apparently protected them all these years. As they turn to leave, Daveth and Jory eager to do so, Atuan turns back to the woman and nods at her.

“’Ma Serannas, Asha’bellanar.”

Alistair watches as the amused smile on her face grows, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“De da’rahn.”

\---

“Do you know her?” Alistair asks Atuan on their way back to camp, Daveth and Jory leading the way ahead of them.

“Not personally,” Atuan answers then seems to hesitate before continuing. “Asha’bellanar is well known among the clans, but today is the first time I’ve actually met her.”

Well now his curiosity is piqued. _“Asha’bellanar?_ What’s that mean?”

“Woman of many years,” he answers, then Atuan smiles at him and Alistair nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of it. “Your pronunciation is good. Do you know Elvish?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very sheepish, Alistair smiles back. “Not in the slightest, unfortunately.”

“I will teach you then.”

\---

Alistair finds Atuan over by the dog pens, a mabari curled up in the elf’s lap.

“Nervous?” Alistair asks him, folding his arms on top of the pen’s wooden fence and resting some of his weight against it.

“A little,” Atuan admits, a barely there ghost of a smile on his face. “You and Duncan haven’t exactly told us much about the ritual.”

There’s a twist in Alistair’s gut; he remembers how much he disliked being in the dark about the Joining too, but he knows _why_ now. The Grey Wardens don’t exactly have a lot of people lining up to join; if people knew what happened during a Joining there’d be even less recruits save for conscriptions.

“They’re almost done preparing,” he says, aiming for reassuring and apologetic all at once. Alistair’s not much of a fan of secrets, most of his life having been one, and he can tell Atuan doesn’t care for secrets either.

Looking over his shoulder towards the secluded area for the Joining that Duncan had commandeered, Alistair sees the man signal to him to round up the recruits.

 _Moment of truth,_ Alistair thinks wryly as he holds a hand out to Atuan, who gratefully takes the assistance.

Alistair pointedly doesn’t think of how light the elf is, despite his stature, doesn’t think of how comforting it is to feel a warm hand wrapped in his.

Doesn’t think of how much he likes it.

\---

“The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” Jory says, pacing in front of them due to nerves.

“Are you blubbering again?” Daveth is beginning to sound irritated, and Atuan can’t blame him, though Atuan’s irritation is tempered more by the odd tingling he felt when his and Alistair’s hands met; he knew there was something familiar about the man, but it wasn’t until Atuan took his hand that it finally clicked. 

Alistair is like him, in the way that Atuan is sure that one of the man’s parents is a mage; while neither of them are mages themselves, children of mages tend to have some sensitivity to magic, the veil around them thin, but not as thin as it is around actual mages. Some can even do a little magic. Conjuring a tiny flame at their fingertips, being gifted at enchanting things, premonitions; things like that, though a lot can’t do much more than being able to sense others like them or mages.

He’ll keep quiet about his revelation for now; after all, Alistair hasn’t brought it up the whole day, though then again, it’s not like there has been much opportunity to do so.

Drawing himself out of his thoughts, Atuan comes back to the present, where Jory and Daveth are getting on each other’s nerves, and on his by extension.

“Calm down,” Atuan says to the both of them. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“I only know my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me… it just doesn’t seem fair.”

 _There’s a lot of things that aren’t fair,_ Atuan thinks but doesn’t say, though his heart does twist in sympathy; it hadn’t been easy for him to leave Ashalle and Merrill and Marethari and the rest of the clan, but it had to be done. At least Jory had a choice at all, though Atuan is fairly certain that he still would’ve joined anyway, even if he hadn’t been tainted by the mirror.

“Would you have come if they’d warned you? Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?” Daveth points out, but it doesn’t seem to calm Jory at all.

“Including sacrificing us?”

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight.”

With a quiet sigh, Atuan moves over to stand by Alistair; he can tell that there’s no point trying to talk to either of them. They’re just going to continue arguing until they’re blue in the face or until Duncan comes back, whichever happens first.

“Chatty couple, aren’t they?” Alistair comments, leaning into his space a bit so Daveth and Jory don’t overhear him.

“Maybe we can use them to annoy the darkspawn into giving up on the Blight?”

That gets a grin out of the man, which brings a small smile to Atuan’s face, especially when Alistair looks like he’s about to say something, but then the grin fades from his face when he catches sight of something. When Atuan turns to look, it’s Duncan.

It’s time then.

“At last we come to the Joining,” Duncan announces, making his way over to the stone table with an almost comically large chalice in hand. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when life stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

Atuan grimaces. Drinking darkspawn blood. It doesn’t sound fun, but if it’ll keep the taint from killing him outright and allow him to fight, then he’ll do it.

“We’re… going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?” Jory has gone white as a sheet.

 _Hair of the dog that bit you,_ he thinks and bites his tongue to keep from laughing.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and our victory.”

Atuan is half-expecting Jory to protest, but instead it is Alistair who speaks up.

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.

That catches Atuan’s attention. _Those who survive._ It should unsettle him, but backing out now would seal his fate. At least if he goes through with this he stands a chance as opposed to wasting away slowly.

“Let’s get on with it then,” Atuan says before either of the other recruits can prolong this.

It’s too late to be getting cold feet.

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

With a nod, Alistair steps forward and bows his head as he begins reciting. 

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” Atuan notices Jory glancing nervously at the chalice before turning his attention back to Alistair. “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

An almost oppressive silence falls over them once Alistair has finished and Duncan picks up the chalice.

“Daveth, step forward.”

They all watch as Daveth takes the chalice from Duncan and drinks from it without a second thought.

 _That doesn’t seem so bad,_ Atuan thinks as he watches Daveth’s face pull into a grimace at the taste as he hands the chalice back to Duncan.

Not even a moment after he’s handed it back, Daveth begins to sway on his feet, an almost animalistic scream tearing its way out of his throat. The man’s eyes roll back in his head, showing nothing but white as his body begins to convulse, clawing at his throat.

 _“Maker’s breath!”_ Jory breathes out, backing away as Atuan rushes forward, grabbing Daveth and helping him down to the ground so he doesn’t crack his skull open on the stone.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan says as the man continues to writhe in pain in Atuan’s arms before falling unnaturally slack. Then Duncan turns away. “Step forward, Jory.”

“But… I have a wife. A child! Had I known…” Jory steps further away, unintentionally cornering himself as he draws his blade.

“There is no turning back.”

“No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!”

 _There’s no glory in a Blight,_ Atuan wants to say. He almost pities the man. _If you wanted glory then you should have joined your King’s army._

Duncan hands the chalice off to Alistair as he draws a dagger, which prompts Jory to swing. It doesn’t last long, before Duncan sinks the blade in between the gaps in Jory’s armor. 

“I am sorry,” Duncan tells Jory as he bleeds out. Then he turns to Atuan. “But the Joining is not yet complete.”

Looking up, Atuan sees Alistair holding the chalice out to him, an almost pleading look on his face as his eyes lock with Atuan’s.

With a nod, Atuan closes Daveth’s eyes – easing the dead man out of his grasp as he stands – before taking the chalice and drinking from it.

“From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden.”

The taste is foul and he can feel the blood in his veins too keenly.

His head begins to pound, feeling like it’s being torn in two, as an image of an almost oily looking dragon flares up behind the lids of his eyes and his ears ring with its shrieking.

Heart beating out of time, Atuan’s sight turns black.

When he can see again, there’s a sense of déjà vu as Duncan looks down at him, though this time instead of being sprawled out on the ground, Atuan seems to be sprawled out in Alistair’s arms. There’s palpable relief on Alistair’s face that causes a flicker of warmth in Atuan’s chest, despite all that has occurred.

“It is finished,” Duncan says. “Welcome.”

\---

“You heard the plan,” Duncan tells them as they stand by one of the camp’s large bonfires. “You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.”

This is news to Alistair. “What? I won’t be in the battle?”

“This is by the King’s personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain’s forces won’t know when to charge.”

And that… that frustrates Alistair. 

He thought that Duncan, of all people, wouldn’t coddle him despite knowing of his origins.

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?” He can hear the biting sarcasm and hint of bitterness in his voice, and he’ll definitely feel ashamed about his behavior later, but Alistair is upset right now.

This feels like when Arl Eamon told him he was being sent away, though this cuts in a different way.

“I agree with Alistair,” Atuan speaks up and it stuns him yet again. Alistair’s never really had many – or anyone, really – agree with him or back him up on something. Or just be happy to have him around, when he thinks back to when they first met earlier in the day and the elf had said that he was looking forward to working with him and actually seemed genuine about it. It might’ve just been good manners, but it had meant a lot to Alistair all the same. “We should be in the battle.”

“That is not your choice,” Duncan tells them firmly. “If King Cailan wishes the Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn… exciting or not.”

Oh no, there’s his _“don’t make me turn this wagon around”_ voice.

“I get it. I get it,” Alistair tells him. He’d rather not have their last conversation before a battle be an argument. “Just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

There’s chuckling next to him and a toothy grin on Atuan’s face; it’s nice to see it so soon after what happened during the Joining. Alistair had been worried that it would be much longer before he saw him smiling again. He’s met a few Wardens who never seemed to escape the Joining’s shadow, the lives lost taking their toll on them.

“I think I’d like to see that,” Atuan jests, a spark of mirth dancing in his golden eyes.

“For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress,” he jests in return.

Duncan lets out a long suffering sigh, as if questioning his lot in life.

\---

They’ve lit the beacon and watch as the fight continues far below and Alistair is practically vibrating with the need to join Duncan and Cailan, but he stays where he is next to Atuan and they wait.

And they wait.

But Loghain and his forces don’t advance like they should. 

Oh no, they go in the opposite direction. _Away_ from the battlefield and there’s an unpleasant swoop in his stomach at the sight.

“Where is he going?” Alistair asks, voice barely above a whisper, watching with sickening revelation at what the retreating form of Loghain’s army means for them and anyone left alive on the battlefield.

And he can sense a swarming wave of darkspawn heading up the tower for them, knows Atuan can sense it too since the elf knocks an arrow and aims for the door, the only exit that doesn’t involve plummeting toward the earth.

Great. _Great._

First they lose Daveth and Jory to the Joining, and now with Loghain’s retreat, they’re likely going to lose Duncan and King Cailan and the entire army to the horde, which leaves Alistair and Atuan trapped on top of the tower with death at the hands of the encroaching darkspawn horde looking more and more likely.

Alistair thought that this must truly be the end, when the door splinters and the darkspawn swarm in like a wave of death, especially when Atuan gets hit by an arrow and goes down hard, a sickening crack as his head hits the stone floor.

Of course, that was when a dragon decides to show up, roasting the impending wave of darkspawn before carefully plucking him and the unconscious elf up and flying away.

Alistair wonders which is a quicker way to die: at the hands of the darkspawn or in the clutches of a dragon? He passes out from exhaustion before he can dwell on it further.

\---

He comes to crammed onto a narrow cot with Atuan. They’re both far too big for it, limbs entangled almost comically. 

The elf looks paler than usual, red staining his white hair and the bandages wrapped around his head. Alistair’s limbs feel too heavy to move himself off of the cot, to make more room for his fellow Grey Warden who is more heavily injured than he is.

Instead he does his best to roll onto his side without jostling his new bunkmate who grunts and shifts closer before settling down again, pressing his face against Alistair’s neck, white hair tickling the underside of his jaw.

He snorts quietly at that when he notices the necklace around the elf’s neck. Lifting it gently to inspect it he sees that despite how worn it is the small wooden animal carvings still retain incredible detail.

It makes Alistair think of his mother’s necklace, makes him think about how he should’ve kept it instead of throwing it away in a fit of childish anger, but you can’t go back and change the past no matter how badly one wants to.

\---

On the morning of the second day Alistair is beginning to feel despair about the situation; Atuan has yet to wake and as far as Alistair can tell they’re the only Grey Wardens to have survived Ostagar.

If Atuan does not wake up soon then Alistair will be the only one and he’s really not sure he can go after an Archdemon all by himself. Even if he would somehow manage to overcome the grief and helplessness, Alistair honestly wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

Not even an hour later Atuan comes ambling out of the hut on slightly shaky legs, but his smile is bright and the dried blood has been washed from his hair.

\---

The fact that Duncan is dead finally catches up to Alistair. 

He grows quiet and withdrawn and it worries Atuan. They have not known each other long, not really a lot of time to get to know each other between what happened at Ostagar and the two days he spent sleeping off the worst of his injuries, but he still worries about the man because as far as Atuan is concerned they’re all each other has right now (Morrigan is with them but she keeps her distance when possible, observing them both, and Atuan isn’t sure how much he trusts her yet).

They’ve set up camp for the night, the fire blazing away as Atuan stirs the stew and Morrigan sets protection runes around the camp, mostly to ward off any curious wildlife. It reminds him of his clan, of Marethari and Merrill doing the same thing each time they set up camp anywhere, how they’d hide them in a way only other Dalish could recognize when it was time to move on. He glances at Alistair across the fire; he’s got that thousand mile stare going on as he looks into the flames. The elf knows that look; he’s sure that Duncan had seen that on his face during their journey to Ostagar after their departure from his clan.

When Morrigan is done he hands her a bowl of stew and lets her retreat back into her own space without any objection. Atuan’s main focus right now is Alistair and being there for him as he grieves over the loss of the other Grey Wardens, over losing Duncan. Scooping out two more bowls he moves to sit next to the other Grey Warden, holding out one of the bowls for him to take.

Alistair doesn’t make any move to take the stew that’s held out for him.

“You need to eat, lethal’lin,” Atuan says softly, but loud enough for the human to hear him. He doesn’t get a response, but Alistair at least takes the bowl from him and eats. “We can talk about him if you would like. Not now, if you’re not ready, but when you feel that you can, I’ll listen.”

He still doesn’t get a reply, but Alistair presses their shoulders together for a moment and that’s a good enough answer for him.

\---

He wakes in the middle of the night gasping for air; another dream of the horde and the Archdemon. Alistair drags himself into an upright position, wiping at the sweat that has gathered on his brow. The tent feels small, like the cloth walls will close in around him and suffocate him, he needs space, he needs air.

He’s relieved that it’s Atuan on watch (he’s wrapped up tightly in a blanket which just makes him looks ridiculous, his short unruly white hair and his feet are the only visible parts of him in the low light of the night) and not Morrigan when he emerges from his tent.

“Rough night?”

Alistair lets out a joyless huff of laughter.

“Yeah, something like that.”

The elf pats the spot next to him on the ground, beckoning for Alistair to join him. He goes without a fuss.

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments before Atuan speaks up.

“You should get some more sleep, Alistair. We’ve a long walk ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Had a… nightmare. Can never get back to sleep after I have one.”

“Shall I sing you to sleep then?” Atuan japes, easy smile on his face and golden eyes glowing like a cat’s in the dark night.

Alistair lets out a tired laugh.

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

“Elgara vallas, da'len. Melava somniar,” Atuan sings, and it sounds like a lullaby with how soothing it is, or maybe that’s just how Atuan’s voice is. “Mala taren aravas. Ara ma'desen melar.”

All the tension drains from his body the longer Atuan sings, and it’s nice not feeling constantly on edge and like he’s being ripped apart from the inside out. He lets himself lean into Atuan’s side, and Atuan leans into him as well, letting them support each other without falling over.

Alistair didn’t even realize that he had closed his eyes until he’s opening them at the feel of Atuan draping his blanket over the both of them. The elf smiles at the bleary eyed look the human is giving him for waking him up from his doze.

Atuan just guides Alistair’s head back to his shoulder and says, “Go back to sleep, Alistair,” and then Alistair is out like a light.

\---

They don’t talk about it after the sun rises, but every time Alistair thinks about how at peace he felt he can feel his face heat up. When he catches Atuan grinning, his face gets even warmer.

He almost doesn’t catch Morrigan’s mean comment due to how distracted he is by his fellow Grey Warden.

\---

They tend to gravitate toward each other during the nights on their way to Lothering. Atuan has been having nightmares as well, but not the Darkspawn related kind. Not yet at least.

“I have nightmares about Tamlen,” Atuan tells him, voice cracking with his eyes red rimmed and puffy like they had been when they first met, when Alistair finally works up the nerve to ask him. That leads to Atuan talking about how Tamlen and he were practically brothers, living in each other’s pockets most of their lives right up until they didn’t. He tells Alistair about the ruins, about the mirror. About losing one of the four people he truly considered family, not just clan.

Atuan also tells him how losing Tamlen had finally made Ashalle reveal what happened to his parents. How his father had been killed by bandits and that his mother only hung on long enough to have him before disappearing into the wilderness due to heartache and grief. How the carved wooden necklace he wears alongside the one Alistair had given him after the Joining is the only thing he has left of his parents.

Without even really thinking about it he wraps an arm around the elf, resting his head on top of the other’s. He feels honored that Atuan seems to trust and like him enough to tell him about Tamlen, so he in turn tells the elf about Duncan. It’s difficult to speak of Duncan, his death still fresh in Alistair’s heart, but it couldn’t have been easy for Atuan to speak of Tamlen either, so he pushes past the way his throat tightens with emotion. Alistair never states it explicitly, but Atuan is good at reading in between the lines, can see that Duncan was family to Alistair.

“I’d… like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done, if we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of."

“He had you.”

“I suppose he did. It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.”

“No, Alistair, it’s not stupid. I understand completely.”

They share a sad smile.

“Of course I’d be dead, then, wouldn’t I? It’s not like that would make him happier,” Alistair says as a thought strikes him. “The Dalish don’t practice cremation, do they? How do your people honor your dead?”

“We bury them with oak staves to guide their way through the Beyond and plant a tree over their remains. The Emerald Graves for example; it’s a very beautiful place, but it’s also the final resting place of the Emerald Knights,” Atuan explains. There’s a slightly bitter twist to his lips as he continues. “Unfortunately, Orlesian nobles have built their vast estates on top of our dead.”

“That actually sounds really nice. The planting the trees thing, not the building houses on graves thing. Having life come from death. Very poetic. I think Duncan came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I’ll go up out there sometime, see about putting up something in his honor. I don’t know,” Alistair trails off, gaze lost in the dwindling flames of the campfire.

“Maybe I'll go to Highever with you, when you go,” Atuan says softly, leaning into Alistair’s side.

“I’d like that. So would he, I think. Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.”

\---

They were only a couple hours outside of Lothering when the dog Atuan had helped back in Ostagar comes running round the bend, barking all the way. Not long after it are Darkspawn which are defeated easily enough.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you. What will you name him?”

As soon as he sees the grin spreading on Atuan’s face Alistair can tell what’s about to come. Morrigan can too if the way she groans is any indication.

“Barkspawn.”

\---

They’re greeted by highwaymen a mere stone’s throw away from Lothering.

“They are fools to get in our way. I say we teach them a lesson,” Morrigan suggests and Alistair is surprised to find himself agreeing with her, though he doesn’t say so aloud. It’s bad enough that they’re in the middle of a Blight, those fleeing the darkspawn don’t need to be robbed as well.

“Now is that anyway to greet someone? Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.”

“You should listen to your friend,” Atuan tells the leader. “And you should stop robbing refugees if you know what’s good for you.”

“I could be mistaken, but that sounded threatening.”

“Sounded like a threat to me,” one of the other bandits pipes up.

Alistair watches with thinly veiled amusement as Atuan leans in close to the leader’s face with a grin. “That’s because it was.”

“Well I can’t say I’m pleased to hear that. We have _rules,_ you know,” the leader says, clearly feigning disappointment.

“Right. We get to ransack your corpse, then. Those are the rules.”

“You can certainly try,” Atuan says, already drawing his blades.

Alistair will never understand how people can take one look at Atuan and go _‘ah, yes, that seven foot tall elf looks exactly like someone I want to rob.’_ Perhaps they’re thrill seekers?

\---

Atuan’s never seen a Chantry chapel before. Not up close, anyhow. He has seen templars a few times before though, and the experience has never been pleasant.

“Why are you wary? You are not a dreaded apostate,” Morrigan says with a wry smile, but Atuan still keeps an eye on the patrolling templars.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose.” He remembers hearing how two clans had been wiped out completely a couple summers back due to the templar raids; Atuan sends a silent prayer to the Creators that his clan doesn’t meet the same fate, wherever they are.

“Oh?” Morrigan responds, and Atuan still can’t quite tell when she’s genuinely curious or not; she shares the same tone and quirks as Asha’bellanar, though if he had to choose, Atuan would say that Morrigan is the easier one to read of the two by a slim margin.

“Templars always mean trouble for clans. It’s—” Atuan shakes his head and goes over to what Alistair pointed out as a Chanter’s Board, whatever that means. “A tale for another time.”

“Fair enough,” Morrigan replies before heading over to the rickety – and mostly abandoned – looking open air market. A good choice, as much as Atuan is loathe to admit it; while he’s fairly certain they could take on any templar who tries to give them trouble over traveling with an _‘apostate’_ (Creators does he hate that word, hates how shems in general treat their mages as if they were a burden, a curse; he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly understand how human society works), Atuan would rather not turn the whole town against them.

Another old habit, he supposes.

“Find anything promising?” Atuan asks as he comes to a stop next to Alistair and Barkspawn.

Alistair wiggles his hand in a _so-so_ motion. “Mostly bandits and bears.”

“Oh my,” Atuan jokes, grinning at the snort of laughter that comes from the other Warden. “No lions or tigers?”

“Afraid not,” is the mock apologetic answer. Alistair tips his head in thought for a moment. “Might have better luck at the tavern. There’s bound to be more work that needs to be done around here that isn’t posted to the board.”

Casting another glance towards the Chantry, towards the templars that stand by its doors, Atuan can’t help but feel the unease in the pit of his stomach twist and grow. “We’ll have to find Morrigan first, though.”

Alistair groans.

“Do we have to? I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“I know she would, but—” Atuan looks over at the templars again and the unease turns into dread. He can feel the lyrium roll off of them in waves, knows that if they decided to drink any of it at this very moment they’d be able to sense any mage in the area, and while Atuan does not know a lot of human society, he _does_ know what happens to mages – or anyone suspected to be one – has heard the horror stories of the prisons they call Circles.

Alistair must see the maelstrom of dread in him because he relents.

They step away from the board, and head over to the market stalls to look for Morrigan.

“You really don’t like templars, huh?” Alistair asks, the tone in his voice trying to keep things light.

“Templars usually only bring trouble for the clans,” Atuan admits with a grimace. “They lead raids against my people and slaughter everyone who stands between them and the Keepers. Some kill entire clans just for sport, though that’s mostly in Orlais; everywhere else, they steal Keepers and others gifted with magic and let the clans wither and die.”

When there’s no response, Atuan stops and the look on Alistair’s face douses the anger that had been steadily building within Atuan’s chest without him even noticing.

“I’m sorry,” Atuan begins; it figures that he's somehow put his foot in it if the look of abject horror is anything to go by.

“What? Oh, Maker, no, don’t apologize,” Alistair blurts out. “I mean, I’m not exactly all that fond of the Order myself, but—I know they aren’t always the best bunch, considering the Harrowing, and all… but I never knew they did that. Makes me even more grateful that Duncan rescued me when he did.”

And that draws Atuan up short. “You were going to be a templar?”

“Yes?” Alistair scratches the back of his neck and they start walking again. “Not by choice. I was… sent to them as a child.”

“And if you had the choice?”

“I don’t know,” Alistair admits. “Definitely not a templar; I don’t mind the skills I learned from them, but I would’ve hated being one. I was miserable enough learning to be one. When I was still a recruit, the senior templars took us to witness a Harrowing. It was… It’s not something I wanted to be a part of.”

Atuan wants to ask, unsure of what a _‘Harrowing’_ is, other than that it must be something terrible, but the grim and slightly haunted expression on Alistair’s face stops him.

They find Morrigan trying to haggle with an exasperated looking merchant.

\---

They leave Lothering with two new companions, Sten and Leliana. 

Atuan and Sten regard one another with blatant curiosity and puzzlement, but Atuan and Leliana bond over trading tales on the way to the Circle. From all the questions Atuan asks during Leliana’s tales, Alistair never realized how little Atuan knew about humans in general. It’s not like he’s one to talk though; it’s not like Alistair knew a lot about the Dalish either, before Atuan started teaching him Elvish.

Leliana would also share songs, but that was one thing Atuan never seemed to do in front of anyone except for Alistair and well, if that made him feel a little bit smug no one had to know but himself.

\---

They make it to Lake Calenhad’s docks by nightfall, the reflection of the two moons dancing on the water’s surface.

Alistair’s stomach is twisting in knots; he hasn’t been back to Kinloch Hold since the one and only Harrowing he ever witnessed.

The memory of that terrified apprentice, Alistair hadn’t realized exactly just how bad the odds were stacked against mages until that moment; no forewarning at all, suddenly forced from bed in the middle of the night by templars, he could practically feel the fear and distress rolling off the boy in waves.

That Harrowing had ended… badly, to say the least.

“You know, I never could understand why humans imprisoned their mages just for existing,” Atuan says, coming to a stop next to him on the docks. “And I still don’t.”

“I’m not entirely sure either,” Alistair admits. Sure, there are a few who could do a lot of harm on purpose, malicious intent and all, but for the most part, a lot of it just seems… unnecessary. Because a lot of people can hurt others, with or without magic, but most are content to ignore that a sword can cause just as much devastation as a fireball. Looking away from the tower, he notices that it’s just him, Atuan, and Barkspawn. “Where are the others?”

“In the tavern. These boats don’t look like they could carry us all across at once, so I figured it would go faster if it’s just the three of us going.”

With the way Atuan glances warily at the templar at the end of the jetty, he knows that’s not the only reason why they’re the only ones going. After learning about the templar raids from Atuan, Alistair can’t really blame him for being on edge around them.

The templar guarding the boats turns out to be a bit of an ass, but Alistair manages to bite his tongue instead of snarking back when Atuan lightly presses their shoulders together.

\---

Of course there was something wrong in the tower; it was beginning to look like everything was going sideways and wrong since Ostagar.

\---

The heavy doors of the entrance hall shut firmly behind them once they cross the threshold into the Circle proper.

An oppressive feeling of _‘wrong’_ hangs in the air around them, and judging by the tense line of Alistair’s shoulders he can sense it too. Corpses of templars and mages alike are strewn across the floor, all along the length of the curved hallway, but the wrongness of the tower isn’t recent; no, it’s one terrible wrong layered atop another, from years and years of quiet horror.

Despite this being the first time he’s ever set foot in a Circle, Atuan can still feel it as clear as anything; strong emotions getting tangled with residual magic over the years. It’s almost as if he’s back in the Brecilian with his clan. The veil is thin here like in the forest, but in different ways, for different reasons.

“So we just have to find this First Enchanter Irving? Talk about trying to find a mage in a hay _and_ a needle-stack,” Alistair quips and it brings half a smile to Atuan’s face, despite the situation.

\---

Wynne joins them in their search for Irving.

Atuan remembers her from Ostagar; they’d spoken briefly before he’d gone to look for Alistair like Duncan had told him to. She reminds him a little bit of Marethari, the way they carry themselves almost identical.

He can’t dwell on it for long, seeing as the atmosphere takes a turn for the worse the higher they go; the air thick as if it were smoke instead, suffocating and stifling in a way similar to those ruins in the forest he and Tamlen found, although the corruption here takes on a more physical manifestation if the strange, pulsating sacks of flesh are any indication.

The stench of rot makes his stomach turn violently, hundreds of sinister things lurking here and just behind the veil; he remembers learning from Marethari about the more maliciously inclined spirits being attracted to places mired in strong negative emotions. From what he’s heard over the years, he’s not all that surprised that the Circle is a prime target for such spirits.

Atuan’s lungs burn and he’s not the only one affected; he can hear Alistair’s and Wynne’s labored breathing not far behind him. At least Barkspawn doesn’t seem too bothered by the miasma.

\---

Atuan had heard stories of abominations and of demons, but never once thought that in his life he’d come face to face with one.

The sloth demon terrifies him. He can feel his heart beating rapidly in fear and out of time with itself as the spirit exerts its will over him and the others, but he must stand against it if they are to save the tower before it is too late.

"Can't... keep eyes open. Someone... pinch... me.”

"Resist. You must resist, else we are all lost."

Atuan can hear Alistair, Wynne, and Barkspawn all slumping to the floor. He follows not long after them, the world blurring as he falls.

\---

Warm sunlight and the sound of a familiar voice rouses him from his sleep.

“—and then Fenarel came back looking like a drowned rat,” the voice says and when Atuan’s head lolls to the side, he sees Tamlen sprawled out next to him on the hillside. The grin drops from Tamlen’s face when he looks at Atuan, replaced with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

There are tears prickling the corners of Atuan’s eyes and he doesn’t understand why, because this is just a day like any other, but something feels… _wrong._

“I don’t know,” Atuan admits.

With a fond huff, Tamlen rolls onto his feet before hauling Atuan up. “Come on, let’s go see Maren and the halla; they always cheer you up.”

Atuan is unable to say anything, his throat thick with emotion, but he follows with a nod.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday, but there’s something off and wrong; a strange, barely there sense of decay coming from Tamlen that Atuan doesn’t want to acknowledge, as well as the feeling that there’s someone missing. Someone Atuan keeps looking for, but can’t quite get the memory of them to stay in his mind.

_Wouldn’t it be nice, though? To leave behind such troublesome thoughts? To just live with your clan in peace?_

_No,_ Atuan thinks, wincing as his head begins to pound with a sudden headache. _This isn’t… this isn’t real._

As soon as he’s thought it the world unravels around him, looking like melted candle wax, and he rears back when Tamlen’s head whips around.

“You left,” a death rattle of a voice says, echoing in Tamlen’s throat, and Atuan… Atuan can’t look away from Tamlen’s heavily decayed face. Can’t look away from the rot and the milk white eyes and the mottled coloration of his skin from death and the taint. “You _left!”_

A scream tears its way from his throat when Tamlen’s corpse lunges for him.

\---

He feels drunk and happy and he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Drunk on happiness! He’s finally with his sister, Goldanna, and her family and isn’t that just fantastic? They’re just one big happy family! But something, no someone, is missing. Who could it be?

Oh, right! Atuan. Atuan isn’t here. Where’d he go? Alistair really wants him to meet his sister. He misses the elf; he is one of Alistair’s only friends and wow that really sounds pathetic, but he feels happy when Atuan is around and Alistair thinks that maybe Atuan felt the same way too and… who’s that?

He recognizes the white hair and the red face tattoos and he can feel his heart swell and constrict at the same time as a dopey grin grows on his face.

“Hey! It’s great to see you again. I was just thinking about you… isn’t that a marvelous coincidence? This is my sister Goldanna. These are her children and there are more about somewhere. We’re one big happy family, at long last!”

Atuan looks hesitant and a little knot forms when his brow furrows. It’s adorable really and he just wants to smooth it out, but that might not be appropriate right now.

“You seem very… content.”

“I am. I’m happier than I’ve been my entire life. Isn’t that strange? I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn’t. This does.”

“I’m overjoyed to have my little brother back,” Goldanna says, “I’ll never let him out of my sight again!”

“May I borrow him for a second? We have business elsewhere.”

Alistair can feel his heart drop a bit. 

Doesn’t Atuan want to stay here with him? He knows that this can never really replace the family that he’s lost, but Alistair thought that maybe they could be family or something close enough to it. Maybe more.

“I… don’t think I’ll be coming. I don’t want to spend my life fighting, only to end up dead in a pit along with rotting darkspawn corpses.”

“Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?”

That’s a good idea! If he stays and sees how happy they can be here then maybe he’ll stay for good.

“Say you’ll stay. Goldanna is a great cook. Maybe she’ll make her mince pie. You can, can’t you?”

“Of course, dear brother. Anything for you.”

Atuan looks pained and no, that isn’t what Alistair intended at all and now he’s feeling a little bit distressed because he doesn’t know how to make it better. What if he –

“I can’t stay and you shouldn’t either, Alistair.”

Well that’s… that’s definitely not what he was expecting.

“What do you mean? You’re acting really strangely.”

Atuan places his hands on Alistair’s shoulders, the warmth from those hands seep into his skin all the way down to his bones, and beautiful golden eyes stare intently at him and oh… there goes Alistair’s train of thought.

“Think about this and how you got here. Think carefully.”

“All right, if it makes you happy. I… it’s a little fuzzy,” Alistair says, face scrunching in confusion, “that’s strange…”

“Alistair, come and have some tea.”

Goldanna’s voice sounds strained and he tries to turn his head to look at her, but Atuan’s hands move from his shoulders to his cheeks, keeping his attention focused on the elf. Fuzzy memories float to the surface the longer he focuses on Atuan.

“No… wait… I remember a… tower. The Circle… it was under attack… there were demons. That’s all I remember.”

“That’s because that’s all that happened.”

Alistair can feel his heart sink like a stone at his words.

“A-are you saying… this is a – a dream? But it’s so real…”

He searches Atuan’s face for any sort of sign that he’s lying but he finds none.

“Of course it’s real! Now wash up before supper and I –”

Alistair covers one of Atuan’s hands with his own and that grounds him, how solid and real Atuan feels compared to anything else here, lets him see through the constant drunken haze of happiness that he hadn’t realized felt grimy.

“Something doesn’t feel quite right here. I… I think I need to go.”

Atuan finally smiles at him, warm and fond, making his chest flutter pleasantly.

“Come with me then.”

Blame it on the fog in his mind but he’d gladly follow Atuan anywhere. Even to the Deep Roads.

“No!” Goldanna shouts and she doesn’t sound like herself anymore. “He’s ours, and I’d rather see him dead than free!”

\---

After they’ve fought off the fake sister and children Atuan can see how troubled Alistair looks.

“I can’t believe it. How did I not see this earlier?”

“You’re in the Fade, which isn’t like the real world,” Atuan says as he stands next to Alistair, leaning into him a bit, both relieved at finding him and exhausted from all of the Fade shenanigans he’s had to go through.

“Yes… uh, well. Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was.”

“I make no promises,” he replies with laughter tinging his voice.

A strange sort of multicolored light begins to engulf Alistair.

“Are we going now? Wait, where are you going? What’s happening to me? Hey!”

Ah, there he goes, off to wherever it is that Wynne went after her nightmare ended. To the waking world, perhaps?

Wynne had been much more difficult to convince. Atuan tries to smother the smile threatening to make its way onto his face. He feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it, the fact that Alistair trusted him, didn’t try to fight him about realizing that this was a dream, makes him feel like he’s in a cloud, if that makes any sense.

He’d try to figure out what it is specifically that’s making his heart feel all fluttery, though he’s pretty sure he knows what it is, but there are more pressing issues at hand so he’ll have to save this for later.

\---

“Ah, good of you to join me, Alistair,” Wynne says from where she’s floating next to him.

Wherever it is they are in the Fade now is strange and not something Alistair ever wants to experience again; they’re in a place, a twilight of some sort, halfway between the earth and the sky, sun setting or rising on the horizon. It looks like they’re falling indefinitely, especially with the way a nonexistent wind whips their hair and they’re not standing on anything solid.

If this is what dragons see every time they fly then Alistair is very glad he was born human instead because this is so unnatural for him.

It’s not too much later when Barkspawn finally joins them, but unlike him the mabari seems to enjoy this not-falling and the wind, which, hey good for him, but Alistair would prefer not to be here any longer.

Not much longer after the arrival of Barkspawn do they finally leave the weird in between twilight space and find Atuan again, this time with the sloth demon and his blades already drawn for a fight.

\---

“Where have you two been?” Leliana asks when they finally return to the Spoiled Princess, Wynne having come with them. “I thought it was supposed to be quick.”

“Last minute change of plans,” Atuan grumbles as he sits down heavily at the table before resting against Alistair’s shoulder and letting himself be pulled under into sleep.

\---

He lies awake, staring at the canvas that hangs above him, unable to fall asleep.

His mind is blank, no circling thoughts keeping him awake, just… he can’t sleep. Alistair shuffles around a bit, trying to get comfortable in an attempt to give sleep one last try. He tosses and turns, but eventually gives it up as a lost cause.

So he lies there and waits… and waits… and waits, but the sun doesn’t rise any faster and eventually, he gives that up too.

With a huff, Alistair sits up, rubbing at his tired eyes before abandoning his tent to see if Atuan is out by the campfire again. The campfire has long since gone cold, the embers barely leaving any trace of warmth. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alistair debates on whether or not he should check the elf’s tent; he doesn’t want to wake Atuan if he’s asleep, but he doesn’t want to go back to staring at canvas by himself and Atuan gets about as much sleep as he does, so there’s a good chance he’s already awake anyway.

At the very least, he can check; if Atuan’s asleep, then Alistair will just have to deal with the aching boredom. If not, then maybe they can just be bored together.

There are two sets of glowing eyes that greet him when he pulls back the tent flap; so Atuan and Barkspawn are both awake, although the mabari flops back when he realizes it’s just Alistair.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Atuan asks, voice a whisper. Alistair can only nod, but Atuan motions for him to come in. Atuan shuffles over to make room for Alistair in his nest of blankets, and there’s jostled elbows as they both try to get comfortable, but it feels more intimate – safe – rather than annoying.

They lay there in the dark, the quiet comfortable and each other’s presence soothing. The silence doesn’t last long though, as they begin to speak to each other in hushed whispers, trying to not rouse the entire camp.

Alistair tells Atuan about how Arl Eamon raised him until his wife had insisted that he be sent away; even though Alistair had been vague, glossed over the details, about how the Arlessa had treated him Atuan seemed to see right through it and understood how cruel she had been. 

He tells him about his mother’s necklace, how he threw it away because of how betrayed he had felt. How he regrets doing that.

It leads to him talking about his time with the Chantry, learning to become a templar.

“I never really felt at home anywhere, though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so I kept it up. What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?”

He can hear Atuan shifting a little bit closer in the nest of blankets, can see his glowing eyes looking at him, before he answers.

“I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now. With you,” Atuan says, voice soft, and Alistair can feel a buzzing warmth settle pleasantly in his chest.

“Really? I… I guess I like the sound of that.”

\---

They wake curled close together, limbs entangled and Atuan’s face pressed against Alistair’s neck, like they had been after being rescued by Flemeth all those weeks ago. 

The morning light casts a warm glow through the canvas of the tent and he can’t help but look and admire the way Atuan looks in this moment.

Alistair knows he shouldn’t dwell on how much he likes the way Atuan smiles softly at him when he wakes not long after he does, rumpled with sleep, in the early morning light, but he does. Can’t help thinking how he could really get used to waking up to this every morning and very much hoping that he can, that he will, and –

All of his thoughts disappear when Atuan leans over and kisses his cheek.

\---

They end up sleeping in the same tent together during the trip to Redcliffe, no longer setting up two tents; there’s no point when they’re just going to only use one.

They don’t really do anything further than sleeping in the same space and kissing the other’s cheek, but he knows he’s got a dopey grin on his face due to how the others tease – mock in Morrigan’s case – him about it. Well, everyone except for Sten because he’s, well… Sten. At least they’re also teasing Atuan about it too, seeing how his face and the tips of his ears flush brightly and he’s also got a grin on his face too.

Despite all the nice, fluttery feelings, dread settles heavy in the pit of Alistair’s stomach, the closer they get to Redcliffe. It means he’ll have to come clean about whose bastard he is to Atuan and he rather likes the way Atuan doesn’t treat him differently like some did.

Alistair hopes that that won’t change once the elf knows.

\---

They’re at the bridge that will lead them into Redcliffe proper when Alistair finally speaks up; better that he speaks now than continue to hide it from Atuan.

“Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier,” Alistair starts as he comes to a stop halfway across the bridge.

“What’s on your mind?” Atuan asks, stopping with him as Leliana and Wynne continue on without them.

Right. Well, moment of truth. Hopefully all that _‘the truth will set you free’_ stuff is actually true.

“I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?” Alistair asks, only continuing when Atuan nods. “The reason he did that was because… well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.”

“So… you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?”

“Ha! Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often,” Alistair says jokingly but he can feel his fingers twitch in nervousness, then sighs, suddenly feeling drained. “I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry.”

The silence is deafening, stretching on for long moments, before Atuan finally, finally, says something.

“I think I understand.”

Alistair sighs in relief, a heavy weight finally lifting off his shoulders.

“Good. I’m glad. It’s not like I got special treatment for it anyhow. At any rate, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it.”

“Are you sure? You’re not hiding anything else?” Atuan asks with a lopsided grin and amusement in his voice. Alistair finds himself grinning back.

“Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it. Just the prince thing.”

Atuan’s grin takes on a mischievous quirk and Alistair finds himself getting distracted by it.

“So I should be calling you Prince Alistair?” Atuan asks, making Alistair splutter.

“No! Maker’s breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack! It’s not true anyhow… I’m the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future. And that’s fine by me. No, if there’s an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon himself. He’s not of royal blood, but he is Cailan’s uncle… and more importantly, very popular with the people. So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I’ll pretend you still think I'm some... nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

“You’re here with me. I think I’m the lucky one.”

That right there leaves Alistair tongue tied, and with the way his heart twists he knows that he can’t even try to lie to himself about this. Not like he had been trying to in the first place, but there’s no doubt about it now.

\---

“Maker’s breath,” Teagan breathes out as a woman in finery runs toward them, a guard not far behind her.

Atuan doesn’t know what’s so surprising about them for Teagan, but out of the corner of his eye he notices the way Alistair tenses ever so slightly.

“Teagan!” the woman calls out with a thick Orlesian accent. “Thank the Maker you yet live!”

“Isolde! You’re alive!” As soon as Teagan says the Arlessa’s name, Atuan’s face goes from a confused frown to blank stone so fast it would give one whiplash. He remembers what Alistair had told him, of how she had acted towards him as a child. Sure, Alistair had tried making it seem not as bad as it probably was, but Atuan doesn’t miss the way Alistair seems to have trouble deciding if he should make himself smaller or not, to avoid her notice. “How did you…? What has happened?”

“I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly,” the Arlessa pauses, clearly hesitating before continuing. “And I… need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone.”

Well, that isn’t suspicious at _all._

“Careful, this could be an ambush,” Atuan warns Teagan. Because this practically _screams_ ambush; ‘come with me to the castle where undead have been coming from all by yourself, no one else around to watch your back.’

“What?” the Arlessa asks, finally noticing that there are others here and not just Teagan. “I… who is this man, Teagan?”

Her gaze flicks from him to Wynne to Leliana, before finally settling on Alistair, who sighs in resignation. “You remember me, Lady Isolde, don’t you?”

Dawning realization crosses her face before settling into a sneer.

“Alistair?” Isolde scoffs. “Of all the… why are _you_ here?”

With a scowl and narrowed eyes, Atuan can feel cutting words ready to force their way out of his mouth; Teagan intervenes quickly, before Atuan can say anything. “They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life.”

“Pardon me, I… I would exchange pleasantries, but… considering the circumstances…” Either the whole Grey Warden situation has gotten Isolde to change her tune, or she’s finally noticed Atuan scowling at her.

“Please, Lady Isolde… we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers,” Alistair says as he moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with Atuan; he casts a quick glance at him and Atuan finds himself – albeit reluctantly – trying to calm himself. For now, anyway. He won’t hide his distaste for both Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde, but at the very least he can hold his tongue until they’ve dealt with whatever is going on here.

“I know you need more of an explanation, but I…” she trails off before turning her attention back to Teagan. “I don’t know what is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues.”

 _The mage?_ Now that grabs Atuan’s attention; how in the name of Elgar’nan did a mage get into the castle without being noticed? Sure, the Circle was in an uproar not all that long ago, and he wouldn’t be all that surprised if a few mages had managed to escape during the chaos, but… But they had heard that the trouble plaguing Redcliffe as far back as Lothering and that had been quite a while ago, and the Circle’s trouble had been fairly recent.

Something’s not adding up right.

“And I think… Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won’t flee the castle. He has seen so much death!” Isolde continues. “You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!”

He’s got a sneaking suspicion that she’s not telling them everything.

\---

They end up going in through the windmill’s secret passage with Atuan and Leliana scouting the way ahead for any traps, which leaves Alistair and Wynne to trail along behind them. He can feel Wynne staring at him and when he looks at her he doesn’t like the look on her face.

“Why are you smiling like that? You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon.”

“Canary,” Wynne corrects.

“What?”

“I look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”

“I once had a very large cat, but that's not my point. My point is why are you smirking?”

Wynne chuckles at him and Alister groans quietly at whatever it is she’s about to say.

“You were watching him. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were... enraptured.”

“He's our leader. I look to him for guidance.”

“Oh, I see. So what guidance did you find in those hips hmm?”

He can feel his face heat up and he’s so flustered that he stumbles over his words.

“No no, I wasn't looking at... you know his... hind-quarters.”

“Certainly.”

“I gazed... _glanced,_ in that direction, maybe, but I wasn't staring... or really seeing anything even.”

“Of course,” she says with a knowing smile.

He groans loud enough to catch Atuan’s attention and when the elf looks back at them Alistair ducks his head and glares at Wynne who is laughing silently next to him.

“I hate you. You're a bad person.”

\---

They make their way back to the Circle to get help for Connor. 

Atuan can tell that Alistair is relieved that he didn’t let Jowan and Isolde go through with the blood ritual. He knows that Alistair is curious about his choice, considering how Atuan wasn’t subtle with his distaste for the Arlessa.

“I don’t care for the way she treated you in the past and continues to treat you, nor do I care for the way Eamon allowed her to do so… But no one deserves to die that way, no matter how terrible of a person they are.”

“Well I wouldn’t say she was terrible…” Alistair trails off, not meeting Atuan’s eyes.

Carefully, Atuan takes his hand, twining their fingers together.

“Alistair, she took her insecurities out on you when you were a child. She bullied you because she knew she could get away with it. Calling her terrible is the most polite thing I can say about her.”

Alistair says nothing to that, but the way he squeezes Atuan’s hand gently lets the elf know that he appreciates it. It also makes Atuan realize that maybe Alistair has never really had anyone on his side about this before and that… that makes his chest twist painfully.

\---

They manage to save Connor – well, Wynne does since she was the only one they could send into the Fade – but the boy is withdrawn and silent. It’s understandable, he’d been possessed by a demon for weeks. The fact that he hasn’t been driven half mad because of it is in itself a miracle.

The only problem now is the Arl; he has yet to wake.

The Arlessa insists that Andraste’s ashes will save her husband, but Atuan doubts that the ashes even exist; she’s sent all of Redcliffe’s knights on a wild goose chase and gotten at least one of them killed for it. But the ashes are their only option at this point; nothing else has worked.

The only clue they have is that someone called Brother Genitivi in Denerim knows the location of the urn.

\---

One night, on the long road to Denerim, finds Atuan and Alistair sitting by the fire long after everyone else has gone to sleep.

Alistair can feel his palms sweating as he glances at the knapsack that holds the rose Alistair has had since Lothering; he’s been meaning to do this for a while now, but there never really seemed to be a good time until now.

Maker, he hopes he doesn’t mess this up somehow. With a quiet, steadying breath, Alistair takes the rose from the knapsack and holds it out to Atuan.

“Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?”

“Your new weapon of choice?” Atuan asks as he takes the rose.

“Yes, that’s right. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent,” Alistair japes while Atuan chuckles at how ridiculous he’s being; it’s a nice sound, one that Alistair doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing. “Or you know, it could just be a rose. I know that’s pretty dull in comparison.”

“Sentiment can be a pretty potent weapon.”

“Is it that easy to see right through me? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, ‘how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t,” Alistair says, gently taking hold of one of Atuan’s wrists, and rubbing his thumb against the thin skin there. “The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I’ve had it ever since. I thought that I might… give it you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

“You think of me as a gentle flower?”

Alistair bites his lip, trying to stifle his laughter, but it doesn’t work very well.

“A gentle flower? No, I… don’t know if I’d put it that way. I guess it’s a bit silly, isn’t it? I just thought… here I am doing all this complaining and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You’ve had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s been all death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.”

Atuan cups his face and leans in and kisses him. It’s chaste but something unfurls in both of their chests and when they pull apart they remain close, resting their foreheads against each other.

“Thank you. I feel the same way about you, Alistair.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says with mischievous quirk of his lips, “Now… if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.”

“No time like the present, then,” Atuan laughs, pressing his smile against Alistair’s lips in another kiss.

\---

“I do wonder. Is it permissible for two Grey Wardens to... oh, what is the word I search for?”

Alistair looks at Morrigan before focusing back on the rocky path they’re going down. They’ve been keeping off the main road the closer they get to Denerim, to avoid being seen by bounty hunters.

“Caboodle?” Alistair offers, trying not to stumble and slide on some loose rocks.

“Fraternize,” Morrigan settles on.

“What's wrong with fraternizing?”

“It seems most undisciplined, for an organization that claims it will do whatever is necessary to end the darkspawn threat.”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other,” he says and gives her flat look.

“Oh no? And what if a Grey Warden is forced to choose between the Warden he loved and ending the Blight? What should his choice be?”

He stumbles in his step this time but quickly rights himself, throwing a glare over his shoulder when he hears Morrigan laughing at him.

“That is a... a ridiculous question.”

“And I have my answer. Most kind of you.”

Just as he’s about to say something in return to her smugness, Barkspawn decides to come bounding down the rocky slope behind them, sliding into everyone’s legs, and knocking everyone ass over tea kettle and sliding down the hill.

\---

They’re about a day’s walk from Denerim, Alistair and Atuan walking ahead of everyone else, when Alistair decides to bring up visiting his sister.

“We’ll be in Denerim by tomorrow, and I know that we won’t have a lot of time there, but I was wondering that when we get there if we might be able to… look someone up.”

“Loghain will get what’s coming to him, I promise you,” Atuan assures him.

“Well that’s a bit of a relief to hear but no, that’s not who I’m talking about.” Alistair hesitates before continuing. “The thing is I have a sister. A half-sister. I told you about my mother, right? She was a servant at Redcliffe Castle, and she had a daughter… Only I never knew about her. I don’t think she knew about me either. They kept my birth a secret, after all. But after I became a Grey Warden I did some checking and… Well, I found out she’s still alive. In Denerim.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Atuan smiles, genuine happiness lighting up his face. “Have you contacted her?”

“No. I thought about writing her, but I never did. And then we were called down to Ostagar and I never got the chance. She’s the only family I have left not also mixed up in the whole royal thing. I’ve just been thinking that… Maybe it’s time I went to see her. With the Blight coming and everything, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her. Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don't know.”

“If you want to, we could try.”

“Could we? I’d appreciate that. If something happened to her and I never went to at least see her, I don’t know if I could forgive myself.”

\---

“Do I seem a little nervous? I am. I really don’t know what to expect. I’d like you to be there with me, if you’re willing. Or we could leave, I suppose. We really don’t have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go.”

“Alistair, it’ll be fine, I’ll go with you.”

“Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange… ‘sister.’ ‘Siiiiiiiiiiiissssster.’”

Atuan places his hands on Alistair’s cheeks, pulling his face close enough to kiss him, silencing him.

“You’re babbling, vhen’an.”

Alistair lets out a long breath and lightly knocks their foreheads together, small smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’re right, I’m babbling. Let’s go, meet her before I end up running for the hills.”

\----

Goldanna scoffs at him.

“For all the good it does me! You killed mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn’t last long, and when I went back they ran me off!”

Atuan bristles at Goldanna’s abrasive attitude; how could she blame her brother for something that was out of his control?

“That’s hardly Alistair’s fault, is it?”

She turns, sneering at him this time.

“And who in the Maker’s name are you? Some elf to follow him about and carry his riches for him?”

“Hey! Don’t speak to him that way! He’s my… friend, and a Grey Warden. Just like me.”

“Ooohhh, I see. A prince and a Grey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me? I don’t know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.”

Alistair deflates the longer she speaks, but it just serves to further infuriate Atuan; yes, he feels sympathetic for the struggles Goldanna clearly faced with losing her mother so young and having to fend for herself, but this is no way to treat one’s family.

“I… I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what to say…” Alistair trails off and Atuan can hear the heartbreak in his voice at being rejected by the only family he has left.

“You've got some nerve talking to your brother like this,” Atuan says, his voice hard. He can see that she only wants money and that whether or not Alistair does give her money, her opinion of him will not change.

“That so? Well he isn’t any brother I didn’t have before he walked through that door. Unless he can make himself useful, he can just walk right back out of it, can’t he?”

“It looks like all she wants is your money.” Atuan rests a hand on Alistair’s arm. This isn’t the way things should have gone; this was supposed to be a _good_ thing. Creators know Alistair deserves more good things in his life.

“Yes, it really seems that way, doesn’t it? I wasn’t expecting my sister to be so… I’m starting to wonder why I came.”

“I don’t know why you came either, or what you expected to find,” Goldanna all but yells at him. “But it isn’t here! Now get out of my house, the both of you!”

“Let’s leave. Now,” Atuan says as he pulls Alistair through the front door and out of the house.

Taking one last look at Goldanna, Atuan can’t help but notice that she and Alistair don’t really look anything alike at all.

\---

They wander through the markets of Denerim, keeping to alleyways when they can, just walking. Atuan can see how the encounter with Goldanna is weighing on Alistair, can see him trying to work through it in his mind. Marethari’s words come back to his mind now as he reaches for one of Alistair’s hands, tangling their fingers together.

“What she said, don’t stick it to your heart so hard. A heart is heavy enough burden to bear already, don’t add weight it doesn’t need. If Goldanna can’t see your value as a person, for you being you, then she doesn’t deserve to know you.”

He can feel Alistair squeeze his hand so he squeezes back.

\---

They meet up with the others at Gnawed Noble just a little after sunset.

Alistair isn’t as quiet as he had been for most of the day after meeting Goldanna, but he isn’t quite back to himself completely yet.

Atuan, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop thinking about how the siblings don’t look very similar at all; sure, there’s bound to be _some_ differences between them, like there is between Alistair and Cailan, but…

But Atuan didn’t see any of the features in Goldanna that he’s attributed to what must come from Alistair’s mother; the brown eyes, the way Alistair’s eyes glow in the dark like his own do, the points to his ears. Alistair is clearly half-elven if one knows what to look for and looks long enough, but in Goldanna – as far as Atuan can tell – she looked completely human. 

Of course it could just be that the features are more subdued in her, but Atuan hadn’t felt any thinness of the veil around her like he had been expecting. It could be a fluke, he could just be over thinking this, but he has to know. Has to be sure for Alistair.

“Are you alright?”

Atuan blinks and notices the slightly concerned look Alistair is giving him and he can feel his heart twist with fondness.

“I’m alright, vhen’an. Just thinking too much,” he answers softly. A thought strikes him and he rises from his seat. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”

Their friends all answer ‘yes’ before Alistair can. With an amused huff, Atuan heads towards the bartender who he knows for a fact knows a lot of people who are good at getting information.

\---

They decide to secure help from the elves before continuing onto the Ashes location. Two things happen before they reach the Brecilian Forest.

The first thing, which is incredibly sappy according to Leliana, is that Atuan has taken to wearing Alistiar’s shirts instead of his own; he absolutely loves it if he’s being honest. Alistair probably wouldn’t have even noticed except for the fact that they hang loose around Atuan’s shoulders, not that Alistair minds, but the shirt is short on Atuan, so there’s this bare strip of skin that makes Alistair’s mouth go dry, and he loses his train of thought at the sight of it until Wynne and Leliana’s laughter pull him back to the present.

The second thing is that an Antivan Crow – Zevran – joins them after he tried to kill them and Atuan spared his life and let him into their group, no questions asked. Which kind of irritates Alistair because the man is literally an assassin who attempted to murder them both and also because of how much Zevran touches and flirts with Atuan who – thankfully – doesn’t reciprocate, only gives the other elf a companionable clap on the shoulder.

Alistair glares at Zevran when the elf looks at him over Atuan’s shoulder and winks at him. _Winks!_

\---

“You do know that Atuan isn’t interested in your advances, right?” Leliana asks later around the fire.

Zevran grins.

“Of course I do. Not to say that I am not a little bit disappointed about that, but it’s just so much fun to rile up Alistair. He gets jealous so easily.”

Leliana’s laughter carries throughout the entire camp.

\---

They’re lounging in their tent, Atuan mending his leg guards to the best of his ability (the ironbark plates are still good, but the leather is starting to get too worn down), and Alistair laying on his side, one arm pillowed under his head while the other is thrown over Atuan’s waist, rubbing circles on his hip with calloused fingers.

“Atuan?”

“Hmm?”

“So… is the clan we’re going to meet yours?”

“No, my clan went north months ago. I’m actually surprised that there’s any clans still here.”

“Ah, so I don’t need to worry about meeting your family yet then?”

Atuan chuckles, setting aside his work and cards his fingers through Alistair’s hair instead.

“Not yet, vhen’an. Hopefully when the Blight ends they’ll return. I’ll introduce you then.”

Alistair rolls so that he’s settled between Atuan’s thighs, face pressed against his lower abdomen.

“Well that’s one less thing to worry about for now.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Atuan’s lips. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Alistair matches his smile and moves away enough to lean Atuan back into the pile of blankets that makes up their bed. Atuan’s hands move to Alistair’s ribs when he rests his forearms on either side of Atuan’s head, pressing kisses along the column of his neck.

“Because I’d prefer to avoid any embarrassing questions from your family about why you’re walking funny tomorrow. Now we’ll just have to deal with them from strangers.”

\---

Inhaling deeply, Atuan feels at ease to be back in the Brecilian.

It feels like it’s been years since he’s felt the forest floor beneath his feet, since he felt the strong presence of the Fade wrapping around him, but in reality it’s only been a few months. He’s glad to see that his body still remembers how to easily move through the trees, despite this being a part of the Brecilian he’s not as familiar with; his clan had mostly kept to the side that was closer to the Imperial Highway.

There’s the faint scent of burning jasmine on the wind; they’re close.

Since he knows what to look for – trail signs, aravel tracks that haven’t completely disappeared yet – he motions for the group to follow him deeper into the forest. It’s only about half of them searching for clan Alhavenlan; Morrigan, Sten, Barkspawn, and Leliana are back at camp, towards the edge of the Brecilian, mostly so that the clan won’t be too wary of their approach.

“So this is where you grew up?” Alistair asks once he catches up and Atuan remembers to slow his pace. 

“Not in this part of the Brecilian, but for the most part, yes.” He points to a few wisps that flit past overhead. “The veil is thinner here than most other places, so most shems tend to steer clear of the forest. It makes for good protection.”

“Huh.” Alistair holds a cautious hand out as one wisp comes closer before it darts away into the trees. “You know, for as much as—”

Whatever he was going to say gets cut off by the deliberate sound of a twig snapping and a hunter he recognizes as Mithra steps out in front of them.

“An’daran atish’an, Mahariel. Your clan is off to the north, last I heard,” Mithra greets them with a nod. She casts a quick glance at his companions. “What brings you and your… friends so far?”

“Far too much brings us here,” Atuan answers with a rueful smile. “It would be best if I explain with your Keeper present; it’s a lot to have to repeat.”

Mithra gives him an understanding look and leads them to her clan’s camp; straight to the point. That’s one thing he’s always appreciated about her. A couple more Alhavenlan hunters appear from the shadows and the trees and walk with them. For a moment, Atuan can pretend that Tamlen is with them, alive and well. When the moment has passed, the truth doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

There will always be a stinging ache in his heart from the loss of his friend, but it’s no longer as debilitating as it once was.

**Author's Note:**

> a lot more work went into this rewrite than the original, so here's a list of notes/resources i used/kept in mind while writing:
> 
> \- [dalishious](http://dalishious.tumblr.com/) is a good source of collected DA lore in general and i highly recommend it.
> 
> \- [Alistair's mother's amulet being Fiona's apprentice amulet](http://grandenchanterfiona.tumblr.com/post/142637673283/what-if-it-was-fionas-apprentice-amulet-like)
> 
> \- [mage orphans and templar recuits](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com/post/122526442124/mage-orphans-and-templar-recruits)
> 
> \- a pretty good resource for Elvish as an actual language [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/229061) and [here,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/359253?view_full_work=true) although i mostly use the first link. ([here's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123051?view_full_work=true) one for Qunlat, though it hasn't been updated for a while; i haven't been able to find one for the Dwarven language yet unfortunately)
> 
> \- since Zathrian's clan's name is never stated in game i decided to give them one, mostly because clan Sabrae is supposed to be relatively close to them it'd be weird if Mahariel didn't know the clan's name.
> 
> \- not a resource, but i do like Anora. i think she's a well-developed character. i don't make her Queen in my canon-playthrough because 1. Atuan doesn't trust her to not betray them again when they bring Loghain to justice, and because he believes Alistair would make a great leader, and 2. because i hate the fade decision in inquisition and there's no way i'd leave behind Hawke _or_ Alistair (sorry Stroud, whoever the fuck you are)
> 
> ***
> 
> i still very much plan on writing a sequel for Alistair and Atuan specifically, though I'm not 100% sure when i'll get around to it. probably not until i'm finished writing my da2 fic, but we'll see. Alistair will definitely get to meet Fiona at some point - while knowing that she's his mother, because damn it they should've actually gotten to know each other in inquisition but that didn't happen and i'm still salty about that. so with this rewrite and my da2 fic, the events of inquisition are gonna be different. basically i'll get around to writing an inquisition fic at some point too.
> 
> y'all can find me [here](http://edmunderson.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions or just wanna talk about dragon age or anything.


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